Lost Years (27 page)

Wogan and Cristina told Christopher at lunch that they had been employing a young German POW (whom I'll call Kurt; I forget his real name). They had become very fond of Kurt; he was a good worker, always cheerful, simple, innocent, sweet natured, a typical German peasant boy—or that was how he had seemed to them. Then, a short while ago, the camp authorities had ordered Kurt to leave the farm and return to them. When Wogan protested, he was told that they had discovered that Kurt had a very bad record; as a member of the S.S., he had taken part in a massacre of civilians, somewhere in Russia. The camp authorities told Wogan that it wasn't their job to try war criminals; their position was simply that farm work outside the camp was a privilege only to be granted to prisoners of good character. Kurt obviously didn't deserve this privilege, so Wogan would have to pick someone else. Wogan had answered that he and Cristina couldn't believe this about Kurt; they had got to know him well, he was incapable of such a crime, there must be some mistake. All right, the authorities had told him, if that's how you feel, you may be present at Kurt's hearing; he will be given every opportunity to prove he's innocent.

The hearing had been set for that afternoon. Wogan asked Christopher to come with him to the camp, saying that the hearing would be in German, which he didn't understand well; he wanted Christopher to translate for him when necessary.

When Christopher first saw Kurt, he appeared to be exactly as Wogan had described him, a sturdy smallish peasant youth with a pretty face and apple cheeks, innocent and healthy. If there was any slyness about him, it would be merely sexual, Christopher thought; he would probably be good at slipping noiselessly out of his room at night and sliding into someone's bed. At the moment, he looked subdued and sad, as was only natural, but not guilty or anxious.

The examiner had come down from London. He was an Englishman but he spoke German fluently. He impressed Christopher as being a real expert at his job. He talked quietly, he didn't bully, he made no show of moral indignation—if anything, he seemed faintly amused, though his face remained unsmiling. Obviously, he
had studied Kurt's case in the minutest detail. He asked Kurt if he had ever been a member of the S.S. Kurt admitted that he had, but added that he hadn't volunteered for it, he had been drafted. “Where were you inducted?” the examiner asked. “In Dresden.” (I'm using names that come into my head; I don't remember the actual ones.) “Where was the barracks that you had to report to?” “On the Wilhelmstrasse.” “You're quite sure?” “Yes, I am sure.” “Because that was where they took the volunteers. Draftees went to the barracks on the Kaiserplatz.” Thus the examination proceeded, step by step. The examiner appeared to know every move Kurt had made; every lie he had told. It became steadily more obvious that the accusation against him was true. Kurt denied everything at first. Then he turned sullen. Two or three times, his face showed a glimpse of rage, like a defiant, cornered animal. There were no tears, no appeals to Wogan for his sympathy. When the hearing was over, he went out of the room without looking at anybody. Wogan was shaken and upset. Even Christopher had become involved. He felt he had witnessed something ugly and terrible, an unmasking. Just for a moment, the fact of the massacre—and of Kurt's part in it—seemed obscenely present, right there in the room. And yet nothing much had actually happened. The authorities had proved their case, but Kurt would almost certainly never be punished; he was one among thousands. To be shocked that a boy who looked like Kurt could have done such a thing—that was sheer sentimentality. Why shouldn't a murderer be pretty? All that had been demonstrated here was a hideous but homely truth: that most of us live quite comfortably with the memory of our vilest acts; and that, if they are discovered, we are angry and humiliated, we curse our stupidity and are heartily sorry—that we got caught.

On March 15–16, there was a tremendous gale; to Christopher, it seemed the most violent he had ever been in. On the 16th, he went with Olive and Jean to the movies. Being out on the streets was quite dangerous, for tiles were being blown off roofs and, once, a large shop sign came crashing down, close to them. Inside the cinema, the noise of the storm was so loud that it distracted your attention from the screen; it even began to seem possible that the building itself might be in danger. Olive was scared. To make her laugh, Christopher said, “Try to pretend it's only an air raid.”

The storm brought floods which closed roads and railway lines, thus preventing Christopher from going to Stratford to see Beatrix Lehmann, who was appearing there in the Shakespeare season. That uncanny chameleon was playing Viola, Portia and the Nurse in
Romeo and Juliet
on successive nights.
²⁶
Instead, Christopher went directly back to Wyberslegh, on March 17.

I have few memories of this second visit, although it was nearly as long as Christopher's first—exactly four weeks. One memory is of a session with Mr. Symonds, the family lawyer, about the drawing up of a formal deed making over the Marple and Wyberslegh estates to Richard; this was at Mr. Symonds's office in Stockport on March 24. Symonds told Kathleen and Christopher—Richard, I'm nearly sure, wasn't present—that Christopher's gift of the estates to Richard couldn't be regarded as absolutely unconditional, because there was always the possibility that Christopher might have a child who would claim a share. In such an event, said Mr. Symonds, the child's claim might well be upheld by the court. It was typical legal teasing—Symonds positively smacked his lips as he spoke—and Christopher was delighted to be able to shut him up. “There is
no
possibility,” he said, “of my having a child.” And he went on to tell them all about the median bar, and Dr. Gorfain's surgery and his consequent sterilization. It seems obvious to me now that Christopher hadn't told Kathleen about this earlier because he knew instinctively that it would upset her. If so, it was extra unkind of him to do it in Mr. Symonds's presence. His motive was spite against them both, as representatives of the heterosexual majority. How dared they assume that he should
want
to have a child, anyway? Nevertheless, the violence of Kathleen's reaction took him by surprise. She seemed to regard Christopher's sterilization as a crime quite equal to that of abortion, and she cast all the blame for it on poor Dr. Gorfain. “He ought to be put in prison!” she exclaimed. When Christopher was alone with her on the way home, he tried to talk her out of her indignation—why in the world should she expect him, a well-adjusted homosexual, to switch to women in his old age? What did it matter if he was sterilized or not? To which Kathleen answered, with an obstinate pout which made her look for a moment like a young girl: “But I want grandchildren!” At seventy-eight, with one foot in the tomb, she could say this—without the slightest consideration for the wishes of the two sons she professed to love! But, of course, this wasn't Kathleen speaking, it was the matriarch-cunt, deaf to all decency, demanding that its gross fleshy will be done. Christopher gasped at it, awed and amazed and disgusted. There was nothing more to be said. . . . The deed was signed later, on March 28.

Another memory is of some conversations Christopher had with Mitty Monkhouse, while they were out on walks, around the back of Lyme Park and over Whaley Moor. Alone together for the first time in their lives, the two became intimate at once. Even the landscape made them feel close to each other, for they were both children of these damp sad beautiful dark hills—“moor born,” in fact. As for the difference in their ages, about seven years, it meant very little now that Mitty was into her thirties. And she evidently needed a confidant.

She told Christopher that she was in love with a man much older than herself This man loved her too. But he was married and his wife wouldn't divorce him. Furthermore, his health was very bad; he couldn't expect to last long. Mitty was urging him to come away and live with her. He was tempted, but still refused to do this because he feared he would only make her unhappy—first, by involving her in a scandal, then by dying and leaving her alone. Mitty's choice of such an old lover suggested a hang-up on her father, Allan. Which was ironical, because Allan was the most drastic of puritans. He had once forbidden a young man the house because he had playfully kissed Rachel goodnight. And now Mitty had found herself a father substitute whom Allan would have condemned as the vilest sort of seducer and emotional blackmailer!

I don't think Mitty needed Christopher's advice. She had already made up her mind that she wanted to be with her lover, whatever might come of it. But Christopher's sympathy pleased and impressed her greatly. Perhaps it surprised her too; she knew he had never been married and may have supposed him to be frigid or pure or both. Christopher soon found himself confessing to Mitty that he knew a great deal about the hazards and problems of unlawful sexual unions, from his personal experience. This intrigued her, of course. She wanted details—still, apparently, not guessing that he was homosexual. Christopher then began to get cagey, which I now regret, because his caution prevented him from introducing Caskey to her on his next visit to England and thus becoming really intimate with her. After these walks and talks on the moors, they seldom saw each other again. I never knew, or have forgotten, if Mitty and her lover ever did go off together.

I don't think there was much snow during this visit, because Christopher went for many walks. He and Kathleen shopped in Manchester and saw movies. Christopher also arranged to have his books (which he had left at Pembroke Gardens in 1939 and which Kathleen had brought to Wyberslegh) crated and shipped over to the U.S.

On April 14 he returned to London and went to stay with John
Lehmann. John gave a party for him next day—Cecil Beaton, Rose Macaulay, V. S. Pritchett, William Plomer, Rosamond Lehmann and Ian Scott-Kilvert were among those who came to it.
²⁷

On April 16, Christopher went to an exhibition of tapestry at the Victoria and Albert Museum. He was astonished to recognize one of the pieces as being identical with the Gobelins piece which had hung in the drawing room at Marple Hall. He wondered if it could possibly be the same, on loan from the museum in the North to which it had been sold. But the curator whom he asked explained to him that the Gobelins state factory in the seventeenth century had turned out many copies of each design. Christopher in his ignorance had supposed that every piece of tapestry must be an “original.”

In the evening, Christopher went with Jack Hewit to see Webster's
The White Devil
. I think of this as having been one of the most remarkable productions of a non-Shakespearian Elizabethan play I have ever seen—but I can remember hardly any details. My overall impression is of roughhouse lust and gleeful cruelty. The miming of the lust would probably seem nothing unusual, nowadays. But there must have been something truly memorable in Flamineo's glee and ferocious laughter, after he has tricked his sister Vittoria and her waiting woman into trying to kill him with pistols which have no bullets in them.
²⁸
I also remember Vittoria literally spitting in Flamineo's face—which was strangely exhilarating.

Christopher and Jack Hewit had supper afterwards with Tony Hyndman. This must have been the first time that Tony and Christopher had met, since the war. My memories of Tony are disarranged, but I'm fairly sure that he and Stephen Spender were now no longer on speaking terms. Stephen had told Christopher that Tony was drinking heavily and that he was somehow involved with criminals. (Do I remember that Stephen's house had been robbed and that he suspected that Tony knew who had done it?) Tony had been to Australia, as stage manager of a theatrical company, I believe, and had made a mess of the job.

Anyhow, Christopher's meeting with Tony was certainly a happy
one. They had been on the best of terms when Christopher left for the United States and nothing had happened to disturb their relationship in absence. Tony looked hardly any older and he was cheerful and affectionate as always. Christopher still found him attractive, but I don't think they had sex together that night or indeed until Christopher came back to England in 1948.
²⁹

On April 17, Christopher saw Tony Hyndman again in the afternoon, after lunching with a young man named Neville King-Page. I think Neville must have been a friend of John Lehmann and that Christopher met him at John's party on the 15th. Neville must have let Christopher know through John that he was anxious to go to bed with him. Christopher seldom turned down offers from strangers and anyhow Neville was quite sexy, though probably a bit crazy. (He later committed suicide.) But this was Christopher's last day in London and he had already arranged to take Bob and May Buckingham and their son Robin to supper at The White Tower. So he couldn't meet Neville again until late that evening. Neville had recently moved into other rooms and didn't feel he could trust his new landlady to be understanding. Christopher went up to ask John if he could spend the night with Neville there. Neville waited out on the street. To Christopher's surprise and disgust, John refused to agree to this, saying that Alexis wouldn't like it. I'm nearly sure John was lying and that he was merely afraid Neville would make noisy sex with Christopher and keep John himself awake, and then gobble up a huge breakfast. Christopher had to go out and send Neville away. They never saw each other again.

Before leaving London next day, Christopher saw Robert Medley and Rupert Doone. The day-to-day diary doesn't say where he saw them or if they had a meal together, nor does it say if Francis Bacon was with them. (Bacon isn't mentioned in the day-to-day diary until 1952, and yet I have a strong impression that Christopher had met him before that.) In the afternoon, Christopher took the boat train to Southampton and went on board the
Queen Elizabeth
.